


what he didn't write about in his letters

by covellite



Series: ARFOV [7]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Human Trafficking, Manipulation, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covellite/pseuds/covellite
Summary: She praised him for being so strong. Even though he felt like he was dying, he did his best to smile at her. He didn't want to fail her.Zedaph's backstory.
Series: ARFOV [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059134
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	what he didn't write about in his letters

He was too young to really remember a world without vampires. The Great Massacre had happened when he was barely a toddler, so he'd grown up in a small village controlled by a powerful clan. He was used to seeing some of the adults lie near-comatose in their homes, arms and legs covered with scars, barely able to speak. The other adults would only tell him that vampires needed food, and humans were their food. It looked painful, but the vampires had all seemed pleasant enough whenever Zedaph saw them, so he was sure they only did it because they had to. The leader especially always made a point to say hello to him. Sometimes she even gave him a toy or some candy.

The adults never told him much about anything, really. They were too busy or tired to teach him anything, so some of the older kids were responsible for teaching him and the others how to read and do basic math. Those kids wouldn’t tell him anything about the world either, no matter how much he begged them to. One said they weren’t allowed, but wouldn’t say why. So he grew up not knowing anything beyond the village walls.

As he grew older, Zedaph was given more and more chores involving the village animals, and he quickly fell in love with caring for them. Sheep were his favorites; they were soft and would listen to him ramble about whatever was on his mind. There weren't many other kids his age in the village, and the adults never bothered to pay attention to him. So he talked to the sheep. They weren't really listening, he knew, but at least he could pretend.

The clan's leader still made sure to talk to him every time she visited the village, and Zedaph thrived under her attention. The other humans always looked upset when she talked to him, and a part of him liked making them jealous, so he started standing closer to her and talking to her in a way that might have been flirting.

The clan leader was delighted. She told Zedaph to call her "Madame", a name she said only her friends could call her, and invited him to come visit her house outside the village. Zedaph had never been outside the village's walls, let alone into the fancy house he could just barely see from the doorway to his own. He eagerly agreed, and she laughed.

The other villagers traded strange looks with each other as Zedaph and Madame walked past them and towards the village gates. Zedaph's best friend, Impulse, reached a hand out, but retreated when Madame glared at him over Zedaph's head.

Her house was larger than any Zedaph had ever seen, and was full of fancy-looking items he had no name for. The sofa was soft, the tables were polished, and the floors were clean of dirt or dust.

"Your house is lovely," he told her politely. It was, truly, although he couldn't help but wonder why vampires got such nice things and humans didn't. But, he figured, vampires were better than humans so they got better stuff. That made sense, right?

"Thank you, Zedaph," Madame said. She sat him down on a plush sofa and sat herself so she was facing him. "Do you know why I brought you here?"

He shook his head. She smiled at him.

"I have an idea I want to share with you. You see, vampires have to drink from humans to survive. I'm sure you already knew that, yes?" She waited until he nodded before continuing. "But most humans are too weak for that. The other humans in your village aren't strong enough for me to feed off of properly. But you are."

"I am?" he asked, unsure. Many of the adults looked very strong, much stronger than he was. And he wasn't sure he liked the idea of someone drinking his blood either.

"Oh, absolutely. I've been watching you, Zedaph, and I think you'd be perfect for me. I'll even let you live here in my house, wouldn't you like that?"

He looked around the room again. Her house  _ was _ very nice, and probably very warm in the winter.

"I guess so," he said. "Could I still go visit the village?"

She shook her head sadly. "The other villagers would be too jealous of your strength. They already think you're strange. But you can write to them, if you want. I'll make sure your letters reach the right person."

He thought about it for a moment. "What about my animals? There's plenty of land right by your house for them, can some of them come live here too?"

An odd look passed over Madame's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "Of course. I know how much you care about your animals. I'll have someone bring them here tomorrow."

"Wait, do I move in today?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Of course. Why wouldn't you?"

Zedaph didn't have an answer.

His first few days as Madame's personal bloodbag (which she insisted was a positive term, even akin to a title) were horrible. He spent most of that time half-conscious and in extreme pain. He wanted to go home, but Madame promised he was doing so well, and he didn't want to disappoint her. She'd already brought his favorite animals over from the village. It would be rude to go back on his promise now. So he stayed, and slowly the pain lessened. She told him she'd taken more than usual to test him, and praised him for being so strong. Even though he felt like he was dying, he did his best to smile at her. He didn't want to fail her.

In his first letter to Impulse, Zedaph made sure not to tell him about the pain. He didn't want his best friend thinking he was weak. Instead, he wrote about how nice Madame was and how fancy her house was. Madame smiled widely at him when he gave her the letter and asked her to send it to the village. She promised him it would reach Impulse by the end of the day.

Two days later he got a reply. Impulse was happy to hear how well Zedaph was doing, and promised that everyone else in the village was doing just fine. The letter was short and fairly emotionless, which wasn't what Zedaph was expecting, but he shrugged it off. People could seem very different in writing than in person, after all. And maybe Impulse was busy.

For months the only other person Zedaph saw was Madame, and she was usually gone. He wrote letters to his friends in the village when he was strong enough to get out of bed, and pretended not to be upset by the increasingly terse responses. Other days he’d draw up schematics for silly contraptions like he and Impulse used to make. Most of the time, however, he spent lying in bed and daydreaming to take his mind off the pain. He rarely even saw his animals, since he couldn’t go outside without Madame, and she didn’t like the way his sheep smelled.

She came home one night with a guest, and Zedaph perked up even as some small part of his brain shied away from the tall man with crimson eyes.

“Hello,” he said brightly, pretending his whole body didn’t ache with every move. Madame gestured him forward.

“Have you met my second in command, Zedaph?”

He shook his head. The man grinned widely at him, revealing teeth that were just sharp enough to be inhuman. Zedaph flinched back before he could stop himself. Madame sighed.

“I had a special favor to ask of you, but I suppose you aren’t strong enough,” she said, voice wavering as though she were disappointed but didn’t want to admit it. Shame welled up in Zedaph’s chest.

“I’m sorry! I am strong, I promise. Whatever you need.”

The man grinned wider.

“I’ve told him about how strong and obedient you are and he was very impressed. You see, the bloodbags in town, we have to share them with each other. Each vampire can only get so much blood. But I don’t share you. I’ve been selfish.”

Zedaph knew what she would ask of him, and swallowed down his doubts. Whatever it took to make Madame happy.

“Would you let him drink from you? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

He felt himself nod, but his mind was elsewhere. He wanted to go home.

Madame asked a lot of special favors from him, all of which Zedaph granted. Mostly they were for her second in command, but sometimes others in her group would come over. He never liked it, but everyone else seemed fine with it. Even his friends, the ones who wrote back at least, claimed the village was doing better than ever. Everything was working out so well for everyone else, so surely this was how his life was supposed to go? He just had to stop being weak.

It wasn’t even a surprise when Madame started selling him to other vampires. He wasn’t sure what she was selling him  _ for _ , since money wasn’t really a thing and she didn’t need any more furniture or jewelry. But he shrugged it off with the rationale that it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t need anything.

Usually the vampires only had him for the night and returned him to Madame in the morning. Sometimes they could convince her to rent him out for a few days, but she normally would only allow it for vampires she trusted. She was very strict about them not turning or killing him, which made Zedaph happy even as he privately wondered why she’d let the other vampires near him at all if she thought they were a threat to him.

As time went on she relaxed her restrictions and started allowing less familiar vampires so see him. These vampires were less kind with him, and didn't take the precautions Madame did to limit his pain. Some of them seemed to revel in it. He quickly learned which ones to look out for. They had a certain spark to their eyes the others didn’t; they leered at him in a way that made him want to break every promise to Madame he’d ever made and run away. But he never did, maybe because they always attacked him before he had the chance. Or maybe he was too scared.

Either way, he would wake up back in his room in Madame’s mansion, wounds carefully tended to and bloodied clothes gone. It was very important to Madame that he have as few scars as possible, so any broken skin was cared for the moment he arrived back at the mansion. His body still ended up littered with scars, but most of them were faded enough that they wouldn’t be noticed easily. Some days he would trace the lines against his arms; other days he pretended they weren’t there at all.

He stopped writing letters long after he stopped receiving letters back.


End file.
